


Little Mallet

by wannabequeen



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wannabequeen/pseuds/wannabequeen
Summary: Samothes (Papa), Samot (Daddy) and little Maelgwyn have happy childhood/family adventures. We all know what happens at the end.The "Major Character Death" tag is referring to the canonical character death at the end of the Marielda arc.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Secret Samol gift for [oziads](https://twitter.com/oziads)! The prompt was: angst about anyone in the g-d family (samot, samothes, & maelgwyn) or fluff about anyone in the g-d family. (the hyphens are my addition to the prompt bc I don't write the whole word yay religion). 
> 
> Beta from Jo!

Samot considers his hand on the stem of his wine glass. Long, soft fingers, ending with clean round nails. The glow of lava shines through the wine, painting his fingers a dappled mauve. 

He shifts a little on the chaise Samothes built him so he could lounge sufficiently dramatically while in the forge, sliding one smooth leg even further out of his Seduction Robe (Purple). 

Oh, but he is beautiful. Too bad no one here appreciates it. 

“You said that aloud, Samot.”

Samothes hasn't even turned from his work bench. Samot huffs, points a toe to elongate his calf. 

“Yes, and I intended to! It's not my fault I'm exquisite, it's the least you could do to notice.”

“Hmph.” The sound of Samothese’s work replaces a real response. 

Clearly, more desperate measures were needed. Samot rises, places his glass on a side table, and pads over to one of Samothes’ horrible statues he says he'll get up and running some day. It's standing with its elbows bent and palms up, as if it were holding a tray. 

He loops his arms around its neck and jumps. Some undignified wrangling later, Samot has arranged himself to his satisfaction in its arms - a bridal hold, robe gaping open at the chest, showing just the right amount of thigh. With one arm across the statue’s shoulders, he brings the other hand to his for head, as if he were swooning. 

“Oh, marble man, who will carry me to bed so that I may rest my beautiful and tragic eyes? Surely not you, since you're immobile, but still I feel I have a better chance here than with my stone-hearted husband."

Clang. clang. A pause. 

Samot cracks open one eye to find Samothes headed towards him at speed. His grin of triumph, however, is quickly upended, as Samothes slings him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Samot kicks his legs a bit, but soon contents himself with the excellent view of Samothes’ lower half as Samothes walks through the volcano to their bedroom. 

.... and unceremoniously dumps Samot on the bed. He bounces a few times. 

“You look divine, but Primo is going to strangle me if I don't have a functioning prototype soon.”

With that, Samothes leaves. Well then. Samot is sure he can come up with something to entertain himself with in the meantime. 

\-------

A few months later Samot is wearing that same Seduction Robe (Purple), but it's not for seduction anymore. It's the only robe he has left that doesn't have baby vomit on it, and tonight is his night to feed Maelgwyn. 

Confidence Alive has very powerful lungs.  
\-------  
Samothes meets Samot’s eyes. Maelgwyn is finally asleep against his chest, but he's still walking in circles and bouncing him in case he wakes up. 

“I think I’m going to call him Mallet. Get it? Like… Mael-let. But also a little hammer!”

“... Thats terrible. I hate it.”

“It's amazing and you love it and also me.”

“I don't know why I agreed to raise this child with you, I should have expected this.”

Samothes grins, ducks his head down to kiss Maelgwyn’s fluffy baby hair. He murmurs “Don't worry, little mallet, daddy loves both of us and he would never leave” against his skull. 

When he raises his eyes, Samot is trying to school his expression into something that's stern, rather than utterly besotted. When Samothes passes him on the next loop of the room, Samot places his hand on Samothes’.

“He's so cute and I love him so much. I love you so much.”

“The two of you will be the death of me, I swear.”

Samothes kisses Samot’s cheek, softly, before returning to his walking. He thought he felt Maelgwyn stir, and he needs his sleep. He's a growing boy.

\-------

If either of them had been awake, they would have heard the patter of little feet running down stone hallways, but as it was, when Maelgwyn launches himself into their bed and screams “PAPA!! DADDY!! I WANT WAFFLES!!!” they’re woefully unprepared. Samot flails and hits Samothes in the face. Samothes, in turn, rolls over and grumbles something that sounds like “Just because I made the Sun doesn't mean I'm a morning person” into his pillow. 

\-------

Later that morning, Samothes makes bacon. He’s wearing a short top - it was a gift from Samot, who said he wanted to appreciate The Holy Tum without shirts in the way. 

The fat, of course, spits. Samothes hisses as his stomach is spattered in burns, pinkish puffy marks rising quickly. He has suffered much worse, but somehow the betrayal of his own beloved pan doing this to him intensifies the sting. 

Distracted from his crayons by the noise, Maelgwyn runs over. He's small, still, needs a stool to reach the counters, so he’s perfectly positioned for what he needs to do. He slams into Samothes’ hip, and starts kissing the burn marks better. 

Samothes knows that Maelgwyn doesn't have the same healing powers as him and Samot, but he focuses and heals each burn as Maelgwyn leaves his gross baby kisses. Let him think his kisses can heal, too - he’ll learn eventually, but until then, what’s the harm?

\-------

Samot and Maelgwyn are doing dishes. Really, Samot is doing the dishes and Maelgwyn is splashing soapy water from where he stands on the stool, but they had decided it was important to teach Maelgwyn that creation means cleanup, even when the creation is breakfast or a drawing rather than the larger scale Samothes and Samot work on. 

Suddenly, Maelgwyn leans over to pick up the little pan that had been used to make eggs. He looks over his shoulder and yells “Papa, look! I'm just like you when you're at work!”

The pan is still hot, and when he swings it under the faucet, it releases huge clouds of steam. With a wooden spoon in one hand, he slow-motion moves as if he's hammering iron into new shapes. 

Samothes applauds uproariously. 

“Well done, little mallet! Soon you’ll be able to come work with me!” he sweeps Maelgwyn up in his arms and spins so that Maelgwyn’s feet fly out. 

Smiling indulgently, Samot continues washing the dishes. It feels like there’s something on the surface of Samothes’ cast iron pan, so he shaves some extra flakes of soap on and sets it aside to soak. 

\-------

“I can't believe he ruined my pan, Primo!”

“I know, sir. A shame.”

“i had just gotten it seasoned so nicely!”

“Mmhm.”

Samothes paces a little more as Primo returns to his work. He pulls at his hair a little, eyes a little manic.

“I worked so hard on that pan! And it was destroyed! In an instant! How did he get it to rust? I made it unrustable!”

“It's a mystery.”

“He doesn't even get why it’s a problem!”

“Don't you have two more pans you've been seasoning?”

“... yes.”

“Can you make another to start breaking in?”

Grudgingly: “Yes.”

The new pan has NO SOAP etched on the handle. So did all subsequent ones. As if Samothes would ever let Samot forget. Samot didn't mind too much - it got him out of having to do the dishes for months.

\-------

Samol takes Maelgwyn on a nature walk around the woods when he’s around six years old. He teaches him about berries that are good to eat and berries that aren't, and how to name all of the different trees.

They come back singing a song they wrote, Maelgwyn’s young reedy voice wobbling over Samol’s low one, accompanied by Samol’s ukulele keeping them in some kind of time. 

It’s horrible. Maelgwyn doesn’t stop singing it for weeks. 

\-------

“Happy High Sun Day, princeling. I made you this.”

Maelgwyn, excited to get a present after a day of everyone giving Papa gifts, eagerly reaches out to take the stuffed bear from Primo. 

“It sings when you squeeze it! Or, at least, it should. Give it a try!”

Maelgwyn hugs the bear close, laughing in delight when his own voice, singing his and Samol’s song, emerges. He turns to look up at his Papa from where he is perched on his knee. Papa’s smile looks weird - more teeth are showing, maybe? His eyes aren’t crinkling the way they do when Daddy says something silly. 

“Thank you, Primo, for this gift. I’m ecstatic to hear that song all day, as well as when my son rolls over at night.”

“You're more than welcome, sir. I'll... return to taking care of operations now.”

“You do that.”

Primo bows, and scuttles away. Maelgwyn gets the feeling he missed something. He shrugs, hugs his new toy tight as a big grey ogre comes up to pay their respects, and hums along.

\-------

The toy gets wedged under Maelgwyn’s bed, because of course it does. The song plays for hours. As they come closer to bedtime, Samothes realizes Maelgwyn won't be able to sleep on a singing bed. 

Primo says it should run out of power eventually, that it's best to wait it out. 

Maelgwyn refuses to sleep in a guest room. 

And that's how Samot and Samothes wind up sharing their bed with an eight year old for a week, even though they live in a volcano full of rooms. 

\-------

Samot opens the back door of the house, the one that leads to the sun-drenched yard, and leans against the doorjamb. His husband and his son are shouting, laughing, playing at swords. They both have simple wooden ones, the type a page is given to practice with, dull and plain. Maelgwyn’s is clearly too heavy for him, but he swings with it anyway. Samothes stops, plants his feet and puts his hands on his hips.

“I am Samothes!” He says, voice deep and booming to the point of absurdity. “Who dares fight me? I am the lord of these lands! I forged the sun from the purest iron and put it in the sky! No little boy could ever fell me!”

Maelgwyn giggles, and starts ‘stealthily’ moving towards his father. It has a few too many somersaults to even resemble stealth, but Samothes pretends not to see him. He grabs his father by the hip, and leans in, and stabs with his wooden sword. Samothes catches it between his arm and his ribcage, and falls to his knees in a caricature of anguish. He leans forward as he pretends to gasp for air, and whispers something to Maelgwyn, and the wooden sword he’d been using drops to the ground and rustles the leaves beneath them.

And Maelgwyn is victorious. He turns his eyes towards Samot for a moment, and he’s giggling. And Samot leans back against the door, taking in the scene. He looks at Maelgwyn, their son, tickling Samothes. He looks at his husband, who still has the sword caught in his arm, playing dead as best he can while laughing. He looks at the sun, angling in through the tender leaves of the trees beyond their home to warm their skin. And he feels the warmth that blooms in his chest, watching the boys he loves play at something that could never be serious, wooden swords abandoned at their feet.

He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so at peace. 

\-------

Maelgwyn doesn’t stop to see it, the sword Samothes is offering him. He uses this blade in the dark instead, grabs his father by the shoulder, leans in, and cuts deep. And it’s almost instantaneous – the volcano shudders and the ground rises up around Samothes, almost like a wall, rising up behind him, tight, and then to the left and the right. He leans forward as he bleeds, and whispers something to Maelgwyn, and the bright blade he’d been working on drops to the ground and clanks to the ground in front of Siege. 

And Maelgwyn is furious. In tears, he turns his eyes towards the mages as his father bleeds out. He steps with clean and clear determination. And the blade now is just a sword. It has a hand guard, and one big ruby in the middle. With each kill of one of these mages, another little ruby gets added.

Because of this death, the city springs itself naturally into reconfiguration. Because of that, all of the Paladeen have been moved into this tomb, this tower, this mausoleum, and they stand in rank, in salute, as their god dies. And they don’t stop the black slacks as they slowly push into Chrysanthemum and Orchid and take back what they believe is theirs. Nor do the Paladeen react as the forces of Samot arrive on the northern shore and begin to build a bridge. It’s slow going, but with the magic of Samot, they’ll be here in no time.

Maelgwyn is in the back, atop the tower, in tears, both blades at his feet.

There is no peace here. Not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Last section is a transcript of what Austin says in Marielda 14, from around 1:35:00 to 1:45:00 abridged/edited to make sense in context.
> 
>  
> 
> [Seduction robe (purple)](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1j5NELFXXXXX1XpXXq6xXFXXXO/Brand-font-b-Purple-b-font-Female-Printed-Floral-Kimono-Dress-Gown-Chinese-Style-Silk-font.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> [Vine that inspired Maelgwyn’s pan-smithing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scSZGA_rfPc)
> 
>  
> 
> Mallet as a dad-joke nickname for Maelgwyn courtesy of my actual father, an engineer who loves goofy nicknames. Singing toy stuck under the bed inspired by the dancing stuffed monkey that sang the macarena that my childless uncle gave me and my parents hated. We only had to wait a few hours though.
> 
> Running titles of this work: secret samsam, samfam ed., two samostabbings, we are samily


End file.
